


Mothering The Kenworthy Family...

by Punk_in_Docs



Series: ~ Victorian Historical Romances ~ [2]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Babies, Children, Drabble, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Mush, Growing Old Together, Historical Accuracy, Historical Romance, London, Love, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Newborns, Old Married Couple, Victorian, Victorian London AU, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: Just a little drabble, set in 1860, London. We see Thomas and Elizabeth settled for the season in their London house, enjoying life, love and the family that surrounds them. Cute drabble that I had to put down... never fear! LTHDOC will live on, this is just a little bonus..... enjoy you lovely darlings....





	

 

 

 

~ London, June 1860 ~ In a large Townhouse in Fitzroy Square, In the blue drawing room ~

 

Thomas Earnest Kenworthy was staring out of the window of his London home. Standing tall, proud and regal as ever he stood. His inky hair, longer than was probably fashionable, swept back on his head, the first faint shimmers of silver becoming present in his dark, onyx hairline. Belying his age, and the strains of his life. This was also present in the wrinkles of oldness that now held a permanent position by the corner of his eyes. They crinkled when he smiled, and his eyes creased gently when he laughed.

He surveyed the bustle, and comings and goings of the fenced sqaure before his eyes, out of the window. He watched carriages clatter and clack past on the grey cobbles, and he watched many ladies and gentlemen strolling along, enjoying the rare sunshine that beamed down on them. The square garden looked lush, and when accompanied by the light, affable chatter of riotious birsdsong, as sparrows squabled in the treetops, he felt a steady sense of happiness and comfort wash over him. He sighed, smiling, in perfectly pleasing content. He was not dressed elegantly today, as he had bid himself not to leave Wildrage Place, his dress relaxed, clad only in black breeches, boots and a black necktie about his neck. A pressed white shirt secured with cufflinks, a diamond tie pin, and his silver watch in his pocket like a permanent fixture.

He turned, still possessing an air of confident pride and relaxed happiness. Back to the luxuriously furnished parlour before him. The baroque wallpaper, lining the walls, blue and gold trimmed furniture, and crushed velvet drapes heavily flanked the wide, floor to ceiling windows through which merry, golden sunshine broke through, shining onto the sapphire aubusson rugs, and the fair coloured carpets. Uplifting the elegant room. Marlowe, their cheeky Irish setter, lay snoozing in the patch of sunshine on the floor. Snoring gently. His tail thumped the floor when Thomas got close, he gave him a gentle belly rub.

He crossed back round to the figure, comfortably housed on the midnight blue chaise. Surrounded by cushions, looking perfectly at their ease. He smiled as he crossed back to them. Looking down, as he came to ease his ailing, creaking knees into the armchair opposite. Making eye contact with the persons opposite him. Before he sighed, merrily, and resumed their earlier conversing.

“Now. It _really is_ up to you… To make this valuable and, _crucial,_ choice…. ” Thomas told them. As he reached forwards, and plucked two things into his hands, holding them up for his companion to very clearly see. His face a mask of pure seriousness as he spoke one more.

“Fluffy _rabbit?_ ” He showed, holding up the velveteen, snowy one in his right hand. “Or… floppy _doggy?_ ” He asks, elevating the one clutched in his left hand. Its taupe ears drooping comically as it jolted in the air.

His son, William, his first born and the little creature that made his _heart sing_ in happiness, blinked back across at him with those _big, bluer than blue_ , eyes that all infants seemed to carry. Perched in the white-lace trimmed bassinet that sat atop the chaise. It was easy to see he had gotten the _Kenworthy_ colouring. Wisps of dark, inky hair sprouted from the top of his beautfiul, round pink head. He had cherubim chubby cheeks, little, fat hands that grabbed _for everything_ nearby, and his cheeks were podgy and he had the worlds cutest, smallest button nose – Thomas thought in his _completely biased_ opinion as his proud, loving father. The Duke was not aware he could have a favourite sound, or sight, as when his son gave them a cheeky smile, and laughed that sunny laugh that melted _every, single, one_ of his father's heartstrings.

William reached out a curious chubby hand, gurgling those baby noises that he so often made, and opted for the floppy canine that Thomas held up for him.

“.. And this time. Dear heart. Try not to throw it out _the-p_ …“ His speech was halted by the fact that dog was sharply thrown back, smacking him in the face. Before thudding to the carpets below. Thomas opened his eyes, and sighed, seeing this made william erupt into chuckling, baby-like chortles. He blinked affably at the child. His smile was just too sweet to not find _endearingly adorable._

“William Richard Kenworthy. You are a _collosal pest_. That’s _those damn_ Farrow genes, _I'll wager…_ ” He mumbles to the boy. Smirking at his own wit.

He crouches on the floor, coming closer to William now, tucking both rabbit and dog into the bassinet next to him. Seeing he flailed his hands around with the silver rattle that let out a clinking, tinkling echo to ring up to the ceiling in the otherwise quiet parlour around them. Save for the din of London outside the window, the bustle of carriages, far off bells of churches ringing across London rooftops. And the ruckus of conversation in the square below. Thomas catches one of his sons waving hands, and brings it to his smiling lips as he kisses it, And William, intrigued, leans closer and puts his podgy hands on the fine plane of his fathers cheeks, gurgling as he studied, with innocent curioisity, the familiar face of the man before him. William smiles again as Thomas prestends to bite his little fingers, toying with him, watching the smile grow wider, more amused. As that loveable laughter comes forth once more.

“ _THOMAS EARNEST KENWORTHY! WHAT_ HAVE YOU DONE WITH _MY SON?….”_ Came a sudden shout, namely from his termagent of a redheaded Duchess, from beyond the open parlour door.

Thomas smiles gleefully to William as he heard his wifes scolding castigation from somewhere else, up in the house. Truthfully, Nanny Stokes had put the tot down for an afternoon nap. But Thomas had slunk into the nursery, and stolen him away downstairs for a while. He was _besotted_ with William. Had been since _the day_ he was born, and first held him in his arms. Elizabeth had watched him cradle their son for the first time, and tears dropped from his eyes, and his smile, she could tell, was a silent vow that he would love their child in a way _so powerful_ and fierce, _no other love could rival it._

He was so enamoured in a way that _was rare_ for a victorian Father. But he was not alike other men of high rank that he knew, whom saw their offspring for a handful of minutes _a week,_ and only saw their benefit in the well-to-do of their marriage match. He _was not_ such a cruel Parent as that. He couldn’t _get enough_ of spending time with his son. He sometimes felt like Nanny Stokes was _thoroughy unnerved_ by the amount of time both Duke and Duchess spent lavishing attention, and love, and attending a great portion of time each day to their heir. The idea of only seeing William once a week, made his _heart ache_.

Thomas grinned like the devil in his own amusement. Before he leaned close to William, and stroked his hand down the side of his babe’s head. Feeling the silken glide of his thin, soft hair and his delicate cranium pass under his hand.

“Does she know you’re _my son_ too? Do you think?” He asks. “After all, I did play a _starring role_ in the act _of your_ conception...” He tells his son. Though he _probably shouldn’t_ have.

“WHERE _ARE YOU?_ _YOU INFERNAL_ MAN?” Comes her call once again. He is not scared by the termigants call. He can hear and sense her smile in her shouts. He knew his fiesty wife could be solidly stopped in her nagging him, by his expertly tugging her close and kissing her, her anger always seemed to melt away after he did that. A custom he habitually employed throughout these merry, three delightful years, of their marriage.

He adored his wife. _Truly_ he did, and the arrival of their son last year _only added_ to their love. Walking into the bedchamber of an afternoon, and seeing her sing soft lullaby’s to William, the little bundle of Kenworthy delight, swaddled in blankets in her arms. Her hair was loose down her back, and she was in naught but her white nightgown, and trimmed lace dressing gown, and dainty ivory slippers on her feet.

He had stood from the doorway, and watched, his wife and child framed by a block of golden sunlight from the nearby window. As she bounced and swayed him gently in her arms, and he was mesmerised, _enchanted_ , by how she sang, crooning him away to sleep. She walked to the crib, and laid the bundle of him gently inside, stroking his soft little head, as she sang, and silently watched over him. Thomas strode across the room, not making a single noise, and slid close behind her, holding her _tight_ as they both looked down upon the beloved child whom was their _entire world_. Thomas had mumbled rhetorically asking how on earth the both of them had gotten so abominably lucky. And Elizabeth had smiled, and turned to embrace him. They made love, quietly, reverently on the bed across the room. Silently showing each other how much they _adored_ one another. Thomas held close, and pleasured the beautiful, wonderful, nurturing mother of his child, and Elizabeth revelled in the feeling of having her perfect husband, and Williams adoring father, naked, vulnerable, _and splendid_ , in her arms. _Joined in passion, entwined as one._

“Don’t _you_ say _a word_ …” Thomas told william, pointing a stern finger. Which William grabbed his porky hands at. Curling one pudgy fist around his Father’s index finger. “I expect _loyalty_ from you, we Kenworthy men must _stick together_ , there are, after all, only _two_ of us…”

However, William made it quite clear, he _didn’t_ feel this way, as he brayed and warbled loudly. Loudly enough, for Thomas to reach over, and pluck him from the bassinet, settling the cooing infant in his hold, against his hip, As Williams hands now groped for his necktie, tugging on it, and The Duke noted he tried to suckle on his diamond tie-pin. Thomas brushed a hand over his head, and kissed the top of his tufty dark hair. Breathing in that gorgeous aroma of his child, talcom powder, clean linen, and an unexplicable, _warm, pink_ , baby scent.

The door creaking open further behind them both, lets them know they had been discovered at last. Marlowe’s tail wagged as he saw Elizabeth come into the room.

 _“You do know_ , your stealing my son away, gave Nanny Stokes an _absolute fright._ I think we may need to _double_ her wages for the trouble and strife you’ve caused her this afternoon…” Speaks Elizabeth from behind him, he turned to face her. Dressed in her artful, Landry creation. Of Scarlet red silk, her beautiful eyes sparkling, her hair perfectly pinned. Though now straggling and drooping with the hassles of her day. She crossed the room to join her little family.

Where he had aged these past three years in his only just greying hair and wrinkles, she had not, by so much _as one bit._ Her hair still as _red_ as one of rossetti’s fine paintings, and her beauty _so fine_ in her age and her motherhood, that he still felt the need to clutch her close at balls if younger gentleman should try and flatter and coo compliments at her. Each boy worst than the last. Layering slobbering kisses upon her gloved hands. The youngest, _greenest_ , son to the Earl of Matlock had been at a ball they attended last Friday eve, and spent several seconds kissing wet smacks up and up her arm – _in a way_ that left Elizabeth wanting to exclaim her silk gloves _weren’t water resistant –_ afterwards stating to her that she was nothing short of a goddess come to life. Thomas stormed to his wifes side, jaw grit tight, and gave the young man such _a vile icy-glare_ , he blushed crimson, and scattered away as fast as his idiotic legs could take him. Elizabeth had to hide her giggling _amusement_ behind her fan at her husband’s carnal, possessive, protection.

 _“Excuse me_ , Duchess, But he is _my_ son too _is he not?”_ He smiled wickedly at her. Elizabeth made a _‘hmmm’_ sound that was the familiar noise of her reluctant agreement.

William’s little face split into another smile at the sight of his Mother, and Thomas passed their baby over to her, she groaned appreciatively as she settled him in her hold. Thomas placed a succession of kisses to his sons head. Adoring the _smell_ and _feel_ of him. Watching his podgy hands toy with a strand of his wifes copper hair, idly tugging on one copper coil, fascinated by the glittery wonder of her earrings twinkling in the sunlight at him.

“ _D’you know_..” Thomas began. “When Carlton invited me to go and dine at the club the other night, _all the while_ I was there, watching all the young bachelors sip port and swill brandy in their leather, wing-backed chairs, and the others playing whist. I realised that I no longer felt like one of them anymore. Sat smoking cigars, and deciding who I would set my cap for. I retired early, caught a cab home, and went straight up to the nursery. Carlton would _call me a fool_ for that. I walked out on a _perfectly_ good gentlemanly evening of gambling, to instead, came home, and read a story to William, and once more revel in the  _pink baby smell_ of his head.” He chuckled in admittance. His eyes aglow as he watched the love of his life, hold their world in her arms.

Elizabeth understood what he had meant. William had that _soft, mushy, warm, infant smell._ Of powder, and new skin. A scent which made her want to cuddle him closer. Pluck kisses onto his cheeks and listen to his responding giggles of glee. She never thought it possible to love something _so small,_ _so terribly much_ it made tears come to her eyes when she remarked on how much she adored him.

“You _never_ were one for the arts of being a traditional London Bachelor…” She explained, after she leaned close and kissed him. William smiled again. _He was such a smiley baby._ And he laughed, as his hands reached up to play once more with his Father’s necktie.

“I’m looking at _everything I’ll ever_ _need_ …” He smiles lovingly down at the both of them, in his arms. Elizabeth chuckled as William fussed a squawk at them. His little starfish, pink hands grabbing for his Father’s jaw. The little rounded pebbles of his tiny fingernails, his short, stout hands, searching grappling for something interesting and _new_ to play with. It made both Duke and Duchess _chuckle_.

“I _love_ how you can’t leave him alone, Thomas. But if he doesn’t get some sleep this afternoon,  he’ll keep me and Nanny Stokes up _half the night_ trying to get him settled..” She warned.

Thomas tilted his head at her.

“You know we pay her a _substantial_ wage to Nanny him at night, so you don’t have to _be exhausted_ every morning and up half the night…” Thomas informs her. For he feared she had mislaid her senses on the matter.

“I _can’t sleep_ if I hear him cry…” She explains tenderly. “And nor _can you_ , some nights…” She points out. She had woken to an empty bed many times. Or, more often, awoken to there being a little, sleeping pink bundle on the pillow next to her, aswell as her husband.

“He did the _funniest_ thing today…” He told her gleefully.

“ _What?_ ” She smiled in enquiry, as William tried to grab for the end of her nose. And she kissed his hands, watching him fuss happily.

“He started to fuss when you left to have tea with Violet. How _are_ her wedding plans coming along _by the way?”_ He asks in an added thought.

“Gertie’s beside herself. Violet says she keeps pinching herself to make sure she isn't _dreaming_ it. Unable to believe that Violet - _Loud, clomping, inelegant, Violet_ \- has captured the heart of the Earl of Herefordshire’s heir.” Elizabeth smiles in a laugh. “I sware, Carlton won’t know _what’s hit him_ on ther wedding day. _She’s so happy_. It’s splendid to see her _so elated_ …”

“You know, If someone told me two years ago that _those two_ would be soon to be _wed_. I would have eaten my tophat in betting _otherwise…_ ” The Duke told her.

“Anyway… William..” She goaded, trying to steer him back on point. And not towards the idea fo Violet becoming, in less than three weeks, the _Countess_ of Herefordshire. Mind, she wasn’t the only one shocked by the annoucement. When Violet told Gertie, her aunt, the woman had chided her three times for lying, and playing a prank, before she finally believed her. They weren’t a couple known to be so highly enamoured of the other – matter of fact it was the _opposite_ – they were said to _rival and hate_ each other with the fury and passion of _a thousand burning suns..._

But, somehow, they had shifted in the last couple of years, now, they were _inseperable_. They had spent more time together, and slowly, their hatred turned to great affection. Of course, they had their problems, as every couple did. They suffered the agonies of a brief estrangement when Benedict’s aunt tried to press a sudden forced engagement on him. Violet had fled to Derbsyhire, to Chatsworth to escape her sorrows, and seeing him, on being so devastated by the news. Unfortunately, it was August, which meant that she got swept up in the family play Judith was writing, for them to put on for the staff, and every visitor above stairs was given a part to play.

Carlton followed not a week later, and he too was roped into their amateur productuon – all written cast by a seven year old. Violet _refused_ to speak to him. He had lied to her about being engaged, and claimed his affections were all for her when they clearly lay _elsewhere_. But he could bare it no longer, and as he was a tall man, Judith cast him for the part of second tree on the left, and Violet played the part of a grecian statue, draped in a toga. Finally, Carlton could keep it in _no longer,_ right in the middle of the final scene, he burst out of character, and dropped to his knees in front of Violet, explaining all to her about the situation, and all that was wrong between them.

Violet had looked heartened, and gasped when he asked her to be his wife. Everyone was shocked, Judith was fuming that they had acted out of character, telling them most furiously that ‘ _This was not in the script!’_ But it didn’t matter, everyone was focused on the tree and the greek statue centre stage, and Violet cried a yes to his proposal, and the tree threw away his branches and pulled her close to embrace her. Everyone was _so_ elated to see them finally paired together. Thomas, dressed as a pirate, slipped his grinning wife, outfitted as a Sherphardess, a wodge of pound notes from his pocket. _She had won the bet fair and square._ Iris paused in playing the narrator, Hugh and Edith looked profoundly happy, breaking costume from being kitted out as mice, and grinned. Judith was _still_ insisting that this was most decidedly ‘ _Not how the play was written to end.’_

“Yes, William…” Thomas spoke up. “When you went out to take tea, he started crying for you. I fed him, changed him, winded him, the lot. But _nothing_ settled him. _Except_ …” He leaned off to the side and showed her the silken scarf that she recognised as her own, which lay in the bassinet by his toys.

“My _scarf?_ ” She asked incredulously.

“I placed it on him when he wouldn’t settle. He curled it into his little hands. And _within seconds_ , the fussing stopped. He _likes the smell_ of _you,_ he likes having you near… _I know how the dear lamb feels…”_ He winks.

“ _Oh_ , Did you miss me? William Richard?” Elizabeth asked. “You _soppy thing,_ _why,_ you’re no better than your father..” She grins to her husband. Thomas raised a brow at her.

“ _Oh,_ I had a letter from Iris this morning…” Elizabeth explains as she sits down, next to the bassinet, replacing William into it, he lay and played contently with his rattle. Elizabeth shuffled his toys around him, making him comfortable. Thomas rounded the back of the sofa, and leant on the back of it. Folding his arms as he peered happily down, gazing upon his son.

“How is she?” Thomas asks. His eyes fixed warmly on his son. He barely noticed Wilkins enter the room, carrying their silver tray of afternoon tea. They bid him a happy offering, and even he smiles lovingly at baby William. He was the _sweetest_ child he’d ever seen. And _so beloved,_ both upstairs and down. He slid out just as silently as he entered, adoring the sight of his family so elated with one another.

“She’s _well._ They’ve gone to Rosestone Manor to see Hugh’s family. So they can see how much Luke has grown. Edith and Judith went with them. Then they’ll come on and join us here for the remainder of the season afterwards.” She explained.

Iris and Hugh too were new parents. They were blessed with another little Everett joining them up at the Vicarage. Luke Everett, born not three months ago. With the biggest blue eyes, and hair the colour of wheat. Edith and Judith _adored him_ , their perfect little stepbrother who was a _darling_ thing. He had Iris’s temper they remarked – _he never cried_ , he was always quiet and affable. Thomas and Elizabeth doted so upon their new nephew. And he was cherished as warmly as _was possible_. In time, they were sure William and Luke would love their cousins very much. Edith _already adored_ cuddling William. She hardly let him _off her lap_ when she came to visit. And they were being invaded by the Scot’s  in September when they were back in Derbyshire, once again, all _eager_ to see new baby William. Especially her eldest cousin – his redheaded namesake.

“How did _she seem?_ Luke not giving her any trouble, unlike this _troublesome pest…”_ Thomas smiles. Williams hands reached to clamp onto his own again, and he played with his sons demure little fingers.

Elizabeth grinned.

“She is well. _For now_ …” The Duchess leered. Thomas turned his head to catch her eyeline. Frowning, to ask her what she meant by that remark. As she reached for a small, delicate saucer of tea, careful to keep the hot beverage away from Williams grasp.

“She tells me, that shortly, you may _have another_ , niece or nephew to love alongside Little Lucas…” She beams, grinning. She watched as Thomas’s face lit up, his smile wide and his expression sober and proud for his dear Sister.

“She’s with _child?_ ” He asked gleefully. Elizabeths answer was to smile a nod at him.

“She expects the next Everett babe should make an appearance, sometime late March.” She smiles happily.

“I am _all amazement_. Hugh will _be over_ the moon.” Thomas exclaims softly. Watching William once more.

 _He won’t be the only one…._ Elizabeth finds herself thinking wickedly, as she sets her tea down.

“Won’t you come _join me?”_ She asks him, gesturing, patting the chair opposite her.

Smiling like a vixen, trying to keep down her elations. Quelling them down in her chest as they were making her smile giddily, in a way that would give the game away. He leaned over, and plucks a kiss to her cheek, before he obeys her wishes, and slides into the armchair opposite. He takes his own saucer of tea. Elizabeth eyes the silver tray cautiously. With what she had to tell him, she fears that it wouldn’t remain intact for much longer, if she knew him at all. He’d want to take her sharply into his arms. Consequences be damned.

“ _Oh_ , I forgot to ask, do you still wish to attend Lady Glendennings ball _this eve?”_ He asks her in a mild afterthought.

Elizabeth considers it. “I hadn’t _planned_ anything _spectacular_ to wear to one of her balls…” She tells him. Which was neither refusal, nor acceptance.

“You look _spectacular in anything_ you wear, dear heart..” He flatters kindly.

“You _have_ to pay me compliments like that.” She warns him sweetly, sipping her tea. “You _married_ me.” She points out. Highlighting the unfair biased nature he was adhering too.

“I say the same to William. I am _his_ father, there _is not a sweeter_ child in the world whilst he lives.” He tells her resolutely.

“ _That’s pragmatic_ of you.” Elizabeth teases.

“I can afford not to be level-headed. I have the worlds most, alluring, _gorgeous wife._ And Now I am father to a son, whom I _adore_. Need _I go on?”_ He asks.

She chuckled at his sheer ability to not refuse himself to be discounted as the luckiest man alive. He explains, rubbing Marlowes rusty, velveteen ear as he snoozed on the floor next to his armchair. Snoring gentle, canine sounds of contentment as his masters fussing. His tail thudded the rug once more as it wagged in lazy contentment.

“I wonder if Iris and Hugh would ever _settle_ at Rosestone?” Thomas asks her. “With another baby on the way, I wonder if the Vicarage will be _big enough_ for them all…” He worried aloud.

“They have no plans too as far as I know. Hugh likes Derbyshire _very much_ I believe. The parish, he insists, is _far grander_ than the one he grew up with at Rosestone, In Hampshire. And I think they like being in such close quarters. The attic rooms there, after all, are very reasonable. Iris told me Edith had made a makeshift book den up there. And Judith has her room there too. They are all contented.” She tells him. “And I think his parishioners would _have a fit_ if they knew he was planning to move away. He _is beloved_ as a Reverend. He told me the other week, some days, he can _barely fit_ everyone in the chapel for his Sunday services.” She explains.

Thomas smiles at hearing that. “He _certainly_ is popular. The Bishop wrote to me the other day, he wants to commend him..” The Duke told.

“He’d be _floored_ by that news..” Elizabeth adds. Knowing her brother-in-law as she did.

 _“Anyway_. From what I know, they are happily settled at the Vicarage, and have steady plans to _always_ be so.” Elizabeth beams.

“Until Edith _moves away_ …” Thomas predicts. “Who knows when that will be… Is she still tutoring that Henry boy?” He asks. “Last I knew she was _incredibly_ keen on him…” He enquires.

“I think they meet at the library often. But I couldn’t sense any, _real_ , particular attatchment on her behalf..” She informs him with a curious frown.

“Who _knows_ … Edith Everett _is, as she does…”_ He informs his wife. His niece was a thoroughly independent girl. Now 19, and as resolute and headstrong as ever. She still held her job at the libray, and adored it. She had been out in society for two years, and made quite the entrance, but she had not found a single human being, with a brain worth forming an attraction too. They were all mostly vain idiots, with each one being worse, and richer than the last, she’d proclaimed. Until Iris told her that was a _little bitter minded_ of her.

“ _Besides_ …” Elizabeth smiles, putting her cup down in the saucer. She watched Thomas pick up the paper, and scan through, as William began to drop off into a sleep as Elizabeth stod her tea down and shook his rattle. “I wouldn’t mind if Edith settled with us at Chatsworth, if she needed too. Come this December, I think we’ll be kept busy with another _new burden_ to contend with.” She told him, smiling in a wily manner.

“ _Hmmm_.” Thomas said as he read the paper.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him. And then watched as he went stock still, and the paper was sharply lowered to his lap. His face appeared again, eyes wide and peering over at her in shock….. _Did she just?_ His brain spat out quickly, after her words took their desired toll.

She chuckled at his ostentatiously shocked expression. She could hear his brain coming, whirring, to a granding halt.

 _“What?”_ He asks in a small, squeak.

“Thomas. I’m _with child, again_ …” She laughs happily.

She had never seen the lanky man, _move so fast in all her natural life_ , he all but sprang, springboarding off the coffee table, and launching himself to the settee next to her. Marlowe sat up and barked at the flurry of movement, William wondered what on earth was going on, and the paper The Duke had been reading, had thrown sharply over his shoulder, so now it fluttered apart, arced in the air, and danced to the carpet, forgotten.

His hands found themselves on her belly, and his lips wasted no time in finding her own. He kissed her. Hotly, powerfully, reminding her that this news was something that he would always be overjoyed at. He pulled away, his eyes didn’t know where to rest. Her face, or her abdomen. One of his hands held neck, the other one pressing to her flat belly, which would grow wider in time. He leaned down and kissed the folds of scarlet satin that sat there.

“Another one?” He asks her happily.

She cocks an alluring auburn brow.

“We haven’t exactly _been celibate_ since William was born…” She informs him. Thomas turns around and scoops aforesaid child in his arms. Bringing him into their laps, gleefully telling him that he would have a brother, or a sister, come Yuletide. And he made a noise of happy appreciation. They _liked to believe_ it was because of the news of his impending sibling. Thomas gathered both his loves into his arms, kissed his wife, and pressed plenty of smacking kisses to his Sons hair. Marlowe lolloped closer, and delighted in sticking his big, wet nose near William, who giggled and tried to pat the animals snout.  They laughed at the sight of that. And Thomas could feel that warm, sunny, familial glow settle in his belly, watching her laugh and be perfectly, gorgeous, _as she always was._

“You make me _the happiest_ Duke alive..” He whispers, inbetween William’s fussing, and her wonderful laughter.

She smiles. Holding his chin as she leans close, and kisses him.

“I only aim to _please, your Lordship_.” She beams

 

~

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
